Vanilla Dandelion
by just-grey
Summary: EC. LJ Prompt. "The flowers. The flowers always brought him anguish, yet he still insists on wearing them." ANGST.


**A/N:** _This fic is in response to prompt number three on the Hipphugger LJ community._

**Prompt:** _Where are Eric's flowered shirts coming from? And why is he wearing them?_

**A/N2:** _This is my first attempt at angst and I am really super nervous. Yes guys, I've turned to the dark side! Ughm. I dont even know if I did this right. Man, just review for me mmkay?_

_**Special thanks:** To Jodie, who told me this was actually worth posting. ; ) If you review, you should totally thank her, cause she is the only reason Im actually posting this._

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Tulips, roses, sunflowers, many, many flowers, crowds him, suffocats him. He stares blankly at the wilting flowers surrounding the memory of her. Surrounding her life, her essence. He slowly reaches down, gathering the wilted flowers. He hasn't visited in quite some time and he feels a pang of guilt. He misses her deeply, more so these days; maybe it's because of all the drama occurring in his life. He would always come to her when he needed to talk, even if she would tease him at first, she always gave him the best advice. He truly and deeply needed her. He needs to feel something for once in his life. Anything, everything; love (already accomplished), rejection (definitely established), happiness (not there yet), nothing. At least he has the last one down to a tee. 

He gently places bright dandelions down at his feet; they had always been her favorite. He once brought them to her, nothing special, just…because. She had a certain twinkle in her eye as she carefully placed them in a vase, taking her time smelling the scent. She had always loved dandelions.

He hears a rustling from behind him, but he doesn't turn to see who it is. He can sense who it is already, he can smell the distinct smell of her perfume. Vanilla, she always smelled like Vanilla. He silently thanks God that she didn't smell like flowers. He doesn't need her to remind him of her too. She places a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. He relishes in the feel of her touch for a moment, then stands quickly, still looking down at the flowers. Her hand still rests on his shoulder, but slowly drifting downward to his hand, capturing it with her own. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't need to, her gestures and body language say what she has been meaning to for too long. With her other hand she reaches up and places her hand on his chest, on the flowery shirt blowing in the breeze. She looks up at him, his eyes still downcast. Flowers always remind him of her, of her tragic death, he is trying to forget, forget all the memories, yet he almost always wears a flowery shirt.

His eyes finally meet hers; and she is taken aback by the emptiness of his dark orbs. She frowns, not because of him, but because of herself. She has been so absorbed with herself and her personal issues that she hasn't been there for him. She wants to make him feel, needs to make him feel again. She knows the reason behind his shirts, the constant memory of her, the constant reminder of her death, of her funeral.

The flowers. The flowers always brought anguish, yet he still insists on wearing them.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" she asks suddenly, her hands still placed in their spots, their eyes still locked.

His eyes go back to the ground, studying the flowers, then back to her.

"I guess some part of me still needs to remember her, some part of me still needs to feel something, even if its sadness." He explains.

"You don't just have to feel sadness Eric," she says. He doesn't believe her, but there is a small part of him that does…that wants to believe her.

And then, suddenly, his lips are crashing down onto hers, both of them trying to take control of each other's lips. The kiss isn't full of love at all; it's possessive, fierce, angry, and sloppy. Both of them are trying to feel something now, not just him.

She grabs at the collar of his shirt forcefully, yanking it toward her and ripping it in the process. Neither of them notices though as she yanks it off of him, making him shiver slightly at the coldness of the breeze. He nips at her lip, causing her to whimper, as he throws his shirt on the ground with the flowers. The kiss doesn't solve anything, not anything, not nothing at all.

Air becomes a necessity and they break apart, both breathing heavily. She is still clutching onto him and he has now resorted to grabbing her ass. He descends onto her neck; nipping, biting, kissing. She rolls her head back, giving him better access, but he stops, and comes to her ear, whispering softly and sadly into it.

"I want to believe you, but I can't."

He yanks himself away from her, her hands being pried from him for she doesn't want it to stop. He retrieves his ripped shirt from the ground, and, takes one of the flowers. A single flower, and places it into her hand. She watches as he walks away, and she is left standing in the breeze, watching his figure disappear.

On Monday when she sees him walking down the hall, he's wearing a new, red, flowery shirt.

Maybe its better to remember.

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_Ack! I still dont know about this fic. Hmph. Please review for moi?_


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